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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648680">against the sun we’re the enemy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwhispers/pseuds/crimsonwhispers'>crimsonwhispers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Everyone is Dead, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Wakes &amp; Funerals, everyone dies, fun ghoul/party poison mentioned, ghoul's philosophy is that revenge is a dish best served with explosives, shootout</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:14:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwhispers/pseuds/crimsonwhispers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He survives the shootout. He's not sure whether Lady Luck just cursed him or blessed him, not when having to play dead and bide his time means being forced to hear the fucking Dracs pat themselves on the back for a job well done while Poison gurgles next to him, choking on his own blood.</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>against the sun we’re the enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey there, i'm not into mcr as much as i used to be (still love the danger days universe though) and i also don't like rpf anymore, so don't expect me to be actively posting more mcr fics. i found this in my old drafts (wrote it in april 2018) and was pleasantly surprised because even the draft was pretty good. i decided to rewrite it to see how much my writing style has changed, and i think this turned out to be a little less emotional and dramatic than the original, but personally i like this better.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He survives the shootout. He's not sure whether Lady Luck just cursed him or blessed him, not when having to play dead and bide his time means being forced to hear the fucking Dracs pat themselves on the back for a job well done while Poison gurgles next to him, choking on his own blood.</p><p>His patience pays off. When they're busy grabbing body bags, Ghoul rises from the dead. He kills them with his hands, like a man possessed.</p><p>"Killing me won't change anything," Korse says. "There will always be someone ready to fill my shoes."</p><p>It's wasted breath, for someone who has so little time left to breathe.</p><p>"Not if there's no one <em>left</em> to take your place."</p><p>He snaps Korse's neck, quick and swift, leaving him no time to react to what he's implying nor to fight back.</p><p>The adrenaline is quick to leave his body now, and exhaustion, hunger, and blood-loss crash into him all at once. His head is spinning, but he's desperately crawling over to where Poison is sprawled, finally still, his unblinking eyes staring at him sadly, urging Ghoul to reach him quicker.</p><p>He collapses before he makes it.</p><p>He wakes to a haze of purple and the smell of burning wood. Near the fire stands a black-feathered figure, distinguishable from the night only for their white mask and bandaged limbs. The Phoenix Witch. They've met before. </p><p>Their necklaces clink when they turn towards Ghoul, and Ghoul is pragmatic, even in the face of death. He gets to work. </p><p>After driving the car over for convenience's sake, he reverently adjusts the bodies of his companions. He memorises the build of each of their bodies as he repositions them, on their backs, side by side. Jackets and masks, he takes from them, like stripping soldiers of their armor, conscious that their armor is what everyone else will remember them by, and dreading it. He closes their eyes, carefully, before cradling each of their faces between his hands to clean them of blood, greedily cataloguing their features. He never got to look them in the face often enough. He gives the Phoenix their guns as a tribute, then puts their masks and jackets in the backseat of the car. After a moment of hesitation, he also grabs the bandana tied around Poison's boot, the closest thing he and Ghoul ever got to wedding rings, and ties it around his own boot, next to his matching one. </p><p>He starts digging. He shakes and cries through it, feverish in the cold of the desert night, the warmth of the fire impossibly distant. He starts making a mental checklist of things he needs to do, when his hands start bleeding, to distract himself from the pain. </p><p>It's a shallow grave, but his blood, sweat, and tears wet the earth at the bottom of it. Sacrificial. It'll have to do. There's no flowers in this desert. </p><p>The sun dares to start rising, and Ghoul curses it, as it pours, golden as always, over cold, dead faces. He goes to get the gasoline from the car. He leaves it nearby, before he drags Jet Star in the grave by the feet. It's undignified, almost insulting, he thinks, but he's only one man, and he is on the verge of death himself, and this is the best he can do. Jet was the best shooter between the four of them. Managed to take a Drac out before the ray gun blast reached his head. </p><p>Next, it's Kobra Kid's turn. Ghoul's barely able to see through his tears, by the time Kobra's inside the open grave. </p><p>Poison's hair is as red as his blood, as red as Ghoul's wrath. He pours the gasoline, he strikes the match, he starts the fire. It burns bright, and he is so incredibly tired, soaked through in a bone-deep sadness at the passing of the only family he had, and all he wants to do is jump into the burning grave and join them in eternal sleep. The Phoenix's breath over his shoulder stops him, holds him back as if it were a hand. </p><p><em>Revenge</em>, he thinks, <em>is going to be my legacy</em>. </p><p>When at last his friends have turned completely to ash, making them one with the desert, the Phoenix takes their souls. </p><p>"l'll see you again, soon," he promises, as the Phoenix disappears in a cloud of purple smoke. </p><p>"<em>Not yet</em>," the wind whispers.</p><p>Ghoul keeps living on borrowed time. </p><p>He gets in the car, empty and quiet, sits in the driver's seat, feeling wrong, because he always sits at the back, and starts the drive to Tommy Chow Mein's. The smell of burning meat won't leave his nose.</p>
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